


No Directions (The Desire Remix)

by msermesth



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Commander Rogers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Seige, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth
Summary: Tony runs into Steve (ahem, Commander Rogers) at a party celebrating their victory over Osborn.It's about as awkward as you can expect.





	No Directions (The Desire Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Evidence of Things Unsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275120) by [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron). 
  * In response to a prompt by [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018) collection. 



> The original MCU story made me so happy, I just had to transfer it over to 616.
> 
> Much obliged to [magicasen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen) for beta-ing this more me.

Tony feels ridiculous—wearing a new suit and holding a glass of seltzer water—while he walks around the ballroom and cherry-picks who he wants to talk to. So many of the people are just looking the other way or noticeably stepping to the side as he approaches that he’s beginning to wonder if there was anyone he _hasn't_ alienated. It doesn’t help that the majority of the familiar faces are scattered across the party and engaged in what appears to be varying degrees of forced small-talk.

Not that Tony wouldn’t be, too. It’s just that no one will _talk_ to him.

“Lonely?” a familiar voice whispers in his ear. Tony twists his neck to see Carol, dressed in a black silk pantsuit so sharp, he’s sure it was Jan’s design.

Tony doesn't respond. It’s a well intentioned question and Carol’s one of the few people who is taking the time to engage with him, but he’s too tired of having to justify decisions he can’t get his mind around that lying about how isolated he feels is disingenuous at best.

Carol knows that—of course—and she changes the subject. “Have you said ‘hi’ to Steve, yet?” she asks and nods towards the spot on the dance floor where Steve is discussing something that looks serious with Senator Sykes. His arms are crossed, his eyes turned to the floor, but his head’s tilted in such a way that you can tell he’s listening intently.

“No,” is all Tony says.

Carol doesn’t skip a beat. “What do you think of the new uniform?”

Tony looks again and tries to be as critical and ‘logical’ as possible. He'd been too lucky to wake up with Steve still in scale mail and head wings. Seeing him now, dressed like that, just makes it clearer how much has changed in this world he woke up in.

On the other hand… that uniform is making Tony’s mouth dry.

“It’s fine,” he responds with forced nonchalance. _It’s going to have to be fine_ , he thinks, more accurately. “Also, who thought it was a good idea?”

“You don’t like it?” Carol asks and Tony wishes she doesn’t sound so surprised.

“No, no, I _like_ it, I just… it’s different, okay?” he says and tries not to focus on the silhouette of Steve’s ass.

Carol gives him one of her ‘I’m not taking your bullshit’ looks and then waves in Steve’s direction. Steve’s head jerks up and Tony is surprised he even notices. For a couple of seconds more than Tony’s comfortable with, their eyes are locked and a series of incomprehensible emotions play over Steve’s face. Sometimes Tony just wants to find a way to computerize Steve’s mind so he can go in and actually understand what’s happening in there.

Tony sees a flutter of movement in the corner of his vision and realizes Carol’s still waving. Steve’s face lights up and he waves back. Tony feels awkward just standing there, locked in place by Steve’s gaze, and lifts his hand like he was going to wave, too. It’s when his hand is already up that he realizes how silly it looks.

Not that standing here with his hand half-raised while Steve excuses himself from the senator and begins to walk over is any _less_ awkward. Tony sighs and says out of the corner of his mouth to Carol, “Why did you have to do that?”

“Because you wouldn’t,” she answers.

Tony doesn’t say, _there is a reason for that_.

“Why is it so weird? You two seemed fine when you returned from whatever weird thing you guys were doing with Thor.” There’s a barely perceptible bite to Carol’s words.

“One hug doesn’t solve everything,” _No matter how much I wish it did_ , he thinks. _Not anymore. Before, all we needed was a hug to metaphorically kiss-and-makeup_.

Steve’s in front of him before Tony is able to put together a well-thought out excuse to leave, so Tony just weakly says “Hi." At least, maybe this way, Carol will get off his back.

“Hi,” Steve responds and he sounds as awkward as Tony feels. Instinct makes Tony take half a step forward but he aborts the motion the moment he realizes he’s about to hug Steve. For Tony, it has only been weeks since Steve and him led the Avengers as a unit and while his brain has caught up to the idea that everything has changed between them, his muscle memory has not.

They stand there, and Tony isn’t sure if he’s waiting for Steve to make a move or if he’s building up the courage to just say something. He searches his mind for something clever in hope that maybe this way, he will just break the tension and fix everything. It’s a little fantasy—Steve laughing and looking at him like nothing has changed.

But Tony doesn’t know what to say, so it’s Carol who breaks the tension. “How are you liking the party?” she asks, and it’s so effortless, Tony feels jealous.

Steve leans in close, like he’s sharing a secret, and whispers, “I wouldn’t say I was in charge of the guest list.” Tony mirrors his movements and leans in towards him so he can clearly hear Steve add, “present company excluded.”

That sends a weird thrill up Tony’s spine, and Tony immediately takes a step back and out of Steve’s space. _Get it together_ , he thinks. He used to have this weird crush on lockdown but something about the mental time jump has mixed up everything Tony has ever felt.

He will just have to build up his defenses again. He can do it.

Carol laughs and then places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Speaking of company, I think I see Jess over there. I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you, Steve.” She then steps away before Steve can respond and Tony can find a way to extradite himself from the situation.

“How do you like—” Tony begins to repeat Carol’s question without even noticing he’s doing it.

“Do you want to talk somewhere we can hear each other better?” Steve asks instead of letting Tony find a better way to finish his question.

Tony, definitely, _absolutely_ , does not stare at Steve when he’s done asking. No, he instead stares at a spot just over his shoulder and studies Steve in his peripheral vision before he shrugs, and says, “sure,” as casually as possible. (Because he’s Tony _fucking_ Stark and he’s pretended to have to it together for the last ten years of his life. He can do five minutes.)

Steve smiles and Tony’s never missed anything like he misses how that smile lights up his skin, as if he’s just stepped out of a damp cave into the easy sunlight of early summer.

(Tony has had a lot of time to think of metaphors, and that’s one of his favorites).

He decides against his better judgment to chase that feeling, which is why he doesn’t ask Steve where exactly he’s leading him and when they end up on a corner of the balcony, just out of sight of the guests inside, Tony supposes it’s as good of a place as any to have whatever confrontation Steve has in mind. What he isn’t expecting is Steve’s silence as he grips the marble rail with two hands and looks out onto the skyline. Tony likes to think that—given how much of his life is spent quietly building things—his reputation as a talker is unearned, but Steve’s silence is straining his nerves and he has to speak up.

“Steve?” he asks, and Steve turns his head to look at him.

There was a time, long ago, when Tony felt like he could read Steve better than he could read himself, but no amount of fighting on a team together and friendship and quietly studying him when Tony thought Steve wasn’t looking could give him the codex to understand what Steve’s thinking at this moment. Tony can’t tear his eyes away—too consumed with trying to interpret—and maybe it’s just a quick moment or maybe it really lasts hours. Keeping track of time has always eluded Tony.

And then it’s over.

“Gentlemen, would you care for some champagne?” Tony hears behind him. He just shakes his head, not looking back at the waiter, but Steve reaches his hand to grab a flute. While in mid-reach something changes in his eyes and he shakes his head, but his hand must already be holding it because suddenly Tony hears glass shattering on the ground and something cold on his back.

“Oh, fu—” Steve cuts himself off and Tony instinctively smiles at his attempt at propriety. “I’m so sorry,” he says quickly after and bends down behind Tony. “Oh, no. You have champagne all over your…” Steve says and instead of finishing his sentence he begins to frantically pat down Tony’s ass.

“I’ll be back with a broom,” the waiter says and then turns around quickly. Tony’s in shock for a few moments because Steve doesn’t seem to be joking, though Tony’s not entirely sure why Steve thinks his hands would be a good substitute for a towel.

Steve must come to this realization and he stops, slumping to the marble floor on his knees and looking off into the distance.

“It’s just some champagne, it’s fine,” Tony insists, and if his voice cracks, who can blame him? Steve doesn’t move. “I have a ton of tuxedos, Marc Jacobs literally gives them to me for free, _it’s fine_.”

Tony squats down so he can be eye level with Steve and places a hand on his shoulder when Steve doesn’t respond. Steve looks at his hand like it’s burnt and Tony grabs his wrist, expecting to see cuts from the glass.

However, there are no cuts, just the two of them close to the cool floor and practically holding hands. They start to laugh, Tony couldn’t tell who starts, but they’re both shaking with it by the time the waiter returns. The broom breaks whatever spell they both must be under and Tony lifts himself up with his hand still holding onto Steve’s wrist. Steve looks up at him, smiling, and now he’s not Commander Rogers or even Captain America.

He’s just the same Steve Rogers who used to send a thrill down Tony’s spine every time they accidentally sat too close together.

Tony smiles back and he can feel the way his cheeks strain and his eyes crinkle. That must convince Steve of something, because he finally pushes himself off the floor and stands so they are face-to-face, and without shaking his hand away from Tony’s grasp, Steve walks away from the mess. Tony follows because he’s pretty sure Steve would tell him if he wasn’t supposed to; he’s uncomfortably aware that as they walk along the balcony, anyone looking at the open doors from the ballroom will see Tony holding Steve’s hand.

(Or wrist, but Tony is sure bystanders won’t try and make a distinction.)

Steve finds a dark and secluded corner and Tony has a feeling that before he showed up today, Steve had looked over the building's floor plans in case anyone decided to attack a ballroom full of America’s top politicians and superheros. Tony feels a pang of concern for Steve. _He works so hard, already; this job is going to run him into the ground_.

They stand there in silence and Tony works up an argument in his head about all the things that led them to this party. “Tony,” Steve says and leans back against the stone wall, tipping his head just enough that Tony can see the beginning of stubble on his chin. “I think it’s time we talk about—”

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” Tony cuts him off before Steve has a chance to finish that sentence. “I know I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn’t believe it was the best course of action, and looking back at it, I can’t imagine I would have done it any differently.” _But that’s not completely true_ , he thinks, because he remembers the flash of horror he felt when he found out about Steve’s death despite having just seen Steve alive and well hours before. And then there is that slightly haunted look in Steve’s eyes that Tony would do almost anything to fix. “But…” he trails off, because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he _is_ sorry, but not in the way Steve will want to hear; how he would do anything to fix it, but he can’t.

For some reason, Steve just smiles and shakes his head, and Tony wonders what exactly he said that caused it. “That’s not what I’m talking about…” Steve begins to explain and then does something surprising—he moves his hand just enough that his fingers slot into Tony’s.

Tony looks down and stares at their joined hands. “Steve…” he starts but hasn’t an idea how to finish what he wants to say.

Steve doesn’t wait for him. “I meant _us_ … I think we should talk about this thing between us.”

“What thing between—” Tony’s confused, but then Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s hand and he gets it. “Oh, _that thing_. I always thought it was just a me-thing.”

Steve slides his free arm around Tony’s waist and stops once his big, broad hand is between Tony’s shoulder blades. “No, it’s definitely an _us-thing_.” Then he quietly laughs like he can’t believe his luck.

Tony laughs, too, because none of this makes sense. It feels like just weeks ago, he was sitting in the tower’s kitchen, making coffee and pretending like he wasn’t watching Steve read the news out of the corner of his eye; now it’s years later and they almost killed each other and Steve _died_ and they are standing here in this dark corner holding hands. Tony should say something, try to get some sort of clarification and make sure he isn’t misinterpreting the way Steve’s looking at him, but instead he places a steadying hand on Steve’s shoulder and leans in until they kiss.

His lips vibrate with whatever sound Steve makes in response and Tony tips his head and leans in closer. Steve opens his mouth, just so, and Tony takes it as an opportunity to deepen his hold on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve pulls away and leans his head on Tony’s shoulder before mumbling “I’m sorry,”

“Huh?” Tony asks and replays the last five minutes in his head.

“I shouldn’t have touched your butt. It was completely unintentional,” Steve says and it sounds like he means it.

Instead of saying, _I know and it’s fine_ , Tony moves his hand from Steve’s shoulder to his bicep, squeezes, and then pushes his arm down. He feels Steve’s hand move with it until Tony stops it right on the meat of his ass.

Steve must get it, because he tightens his hold and pulls Tony closer before angling his head and kissing him deep.

Tony loses himself in it and forgets about all the things he can’t explain and all the important people inside the ballroom and the history he wishes they didn’t have. They kiss and Tony’s no longer the idiot pining for his best friend or whatever type of man he was when he became Director of SHIELD. He can’t fix their past, but right now, he can enjoy the present.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](https://msermesth.tumblr.com/post/171499493779/no-directions-the-desire-remix)


End file.
